


Casualties of War

by rallamajoop



Category: Guilty Gear
Genre: Angry Sex, M/M, topping!Ky, war-era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Communication has never been one of Sol’s better talents, but ‘complicating Ky’s life’ probably ranks somewhere on the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casualties of War

The three commissioned officers lining the wall of the Commander’s office were shortly going to perfect the art of flinching in comically perfect unison. Historically, the political struggles labouring the Order’s high command had placed them on differing sides more often than not, but today found them united at last in rising and unanimous desire to be anywhere else but where duty demanded they be – which was, unfortunately, here. Order regulations provided indisputable justification for their presence – all official disciplinary proceedings regarding battlefield misconduct on this scale were to be carried out in the presence of at least two additional parties, even when they were headed by the Commander himself. The irony of it all was that the main reason that rule had ever been penned at all had been to _prevent_ the exercise from devolving into a scene like this.  
  
The last time any of the officers had tried to offer any input was three minutes past; now none wanted anything more than to be able to vanish into the wallpaper, or perhaps sink into the carpet. The one remaining mercy was that both the other persons present seemed to have long forgotten they were there at all.  
  
“…if there’s enough left to allow identification by their _dental records_ the Medical Division will count itself _lucky_.” The Commander’s voice seared like an ice burn. “Four of our men, incinerated in an instant!” It was a tone that took no prisoners, cared nothing for collateral damage, made it very hard for the officers to remember it was not directed at them and they had done nothing they had any cause to be ashamed of. Convincing themselves the Commander would remember that was harder than it should have been.  
  
The solider, the infamous Sol Badguy, persisted in looking at Commander Kiske like something he’d scraped off his boot. “So?”  
  
“You deny all responsibility?”  
  
“Farce of a battle like that, you should be thanking me if you’ve got four men left.”  
  
“Four out of twenty five casualties today,” the Commander supplied curtly, “being the only four lost to friendly fire…”  
  
“No such thing.” Badguy’s tone dripped with the implication that anyone who couldn’t get their heads around that point was asking for whatever it got them.  
  
“…and three witnesses,” the Commander went on as if he had never heard the interruption, “who will _swear blind_ they saw the blast that killed them come from you.”  
  
The soldier made no reply. Sir Kiske paused just long enough to let the accusation sink in.  
  
“Would you tell me to doubt them? Nothing on that battlefield but you had the capacity to create such a blast.”  
  
The officers huddled a fraction of an inch further back towards the wall and tried very hard not to wonder how many men (or Gears) the Commander might be able to take down with that glare alone.  
  
“Wasn’t aiming for them if that’s what you’re asking,” Badguy grumbled, the retort coming just a little too soon to avoid sounding defensive; even on him the Commander’s words might have found a nerve somewhere to worry at. “What the hell do you take me for? If your soldiers were in the way…”  
  
“Then it was their own fault, is that what you’d have me believe? You admit no accountability for any consequence of your own actions?”  
  
“Your precious witnesses tell you the blast they saw took down a Megadeath Gear?”  
  
“‘Chased away’ would be the term you were looking for, and it was barely in the upper range of Large Class –”  
  
“Woulda found out if it was ‘Large Class’ if I’d left it there a minute longer.”  
  
The force of the Commander’s hand meeting his desk made a noise like a thunder clap. Everything in the room rattled. “Did you so much as try to warn them? How long does it take to yell ‘get out of the way’, or even ‘duck’? Did you even hesitate for a second when you saw them there?”  
  
“Hesitating’s what lost you the other twenty-one.”  
  
“What are we supposed to tell their families? ‘Died in honourable service on this day, in _friendly fire?_ ’”  
  
“Whatever’s on the fucking form letter.” Badguy spat, and made a motion as if to turn to go.  
  
“Sol!” the Commander shouted, and Badguy actually flinched and stopped in place. “Don’t you dare walk out of here! This is not over. You are off duty until the investigation is finished.”  
  
“Have fun dealing with your next extra-Large Class without me,” Badguy threw back, not bothering with even so much as a final glance backwards, and made it the rest of the way to the door unopposed.  
  
The tension in the room did not noticeably lessen. The Commander’s office was a very nice room, not opulent but elegantly furnished. It was something to be grateful for, all three officers silently agreed, that nothing had been damaged or broken – least of all, say, themselves. Any minute now the Commander was bound to remember they were there, and recognising objectively that it was better gotten over with quickly was not enough for any of them to want to be the one who made a noise first.  
  
Finally, as the seconds the Commander had spent staring at the doorway stretched towards infinite, one of them let out the smallest of coughs.  
  
“You may return to your duties,” Sir Kiske snapped, not even looking around.  
  
The officers all but fell over each other to get out of the door, united one last time in the thought that anyone who had to deal with the Commander in the next twenty four hours deserved more sympathy than all the army could generate.  


* * *

By the time Ky allowed himself to return to his quarters that night he was feeling worn to the bone, mentally and emotionally. Specific cases of unjustifiable behaviour were only the final straw to what had been, even against the backdrop of these miserable times, a truly catastrophic day. Sleep could do little to soften the ordeal he’d endured, of which twenty-five deaths in battle was barely the tip of the iceberg, and the investigation needed to resolve this matter the last thing the Order had time or resources for, and at once a measure they could not possibly afford to dispense with. He needed rest desperately if he was to have any hope of untangling this mess tomorrow. He had almost begun to believe he could hear the ticking of the time between now and when the next Gear attack would be upon them draining away every time silence descended around him.

The last thing he needed was to find the very man who’d caused him most of the stress waiting for him, sitting on his bed even.

With energy he would have sworn he no longer possessed even a moment before, Ky burst out, “I do not believe this! What makes you think you’re remotely welcome here, today of all days?!”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Sol, as if that was all the explanation he needed. At least he wasn’t adding further insult by wasting energy trying to make his voice seductive, but that carried the implication that he didn’t think it would be necessary, which was more than insulting enough alone. If anything, his countenance was bizarrely blank even by the standards of Sol’s usually limited emotional range; what was going through his head Ky could not begin to imagine.

“Because you relish the prospect of being thrown out?! Haven’t you done enough!”

“Got you worked up,” said Sol, rising slowly to his feet. “Only fair I give you a way to work it off. How well are you going to sleep if you go to bed like that?”

Ky closed his eyes, ground his teeth and furiously wished Sol a thousand miles away. The curse of it was that he was completely and indisputably right.

“Get your clothes off,” Ky ordered, a few hundred complex objections lost somewhere in the sea of rage in his head. The cue had been right there for him to pick this up from the very moment Sol had stalked out of his office hours earlier; now they were in private there was no way it wouldn’t build up until it came to blows between them, and given how tired and worked up they both were it would be a miracle if it didn’t end up devolving into just the kind of scene Sol wanted. The future was all there unrolling behind his eyes with horrible familiarity, and for once, delaying the inevitable at the price of a little useless pride (not to mention a few bruises and the real risk of broken furniture) simply wasn’t worth it.

Without a word, Sol took his hands to the fastenings of his coat. The many layers of the Order uniform accumulated in an untidy pile by the bed, Sol moving without haste, eyes never quite leaving Ky as he worked. It was the insufferable irony – that this was the one situation when Sol would follow orders without insolence, very nearly the only time he’d follow orders at all.

Finished, Sol stood waiting. Ky very deliberately kept his eyes at face level. (As long as he didn’t draw attention to the fact that Sol’s headband remained the one piece that hadn’t been removed, it was easy enough to pretend it didn’t matter whether that was the one account on which Sol would refuse him.)

“My coat,” he instructed, trying hard not to listen to the sound of his voice in his own ears. “Belt and boots as well.”

Obediently, or in some parody of obedience, Sol stepped forward and helped him out of each item of clothing, hands moving very deliberately around the areas of Ky’s neck, his chest, under his belt. It was a matter of some concentration to keep his breathing steady, lifting his arms or shifting just enough for perfunctory cooperation – to remind himself that the anger that ran liquid through every nerve deserved to be treated as more than fuel for a different kind of fire. Removal of the second boot left Sol looking up at him speculatively from where he knelt at Ky’s feet, a storybook of unvoiced possibilities lurking in the very edge of a smirk. Arranged as they were it was all but impossible to avoid looking down far enough to see _exactly_ how interesting Sol was finding these proceedings, even just this proximity swiftly becoming a terrible tease to both of them, but Ky had no interest in giving him the satisfaction.

Instead, he tangled a hand in Sol’s hair and tugged upwards, just a little, more than enough to make his intent clear. Sol rose on cue, taller now Ky was barefoot, straight up to leave them close enough to taste the other’s breath against their faces. Ky’s fingers barely tightened this time, just enough of a nudge to instruct Sol to open his mouth against Ky’s, the kiss as brief as he could make himself keep it before scraping his teeth over Sol’s bottom lip in a signal to stop. Sol complied, but no more than to the letter required, practically thrumming with anticipation now; the space between them did not widen even a fraction of an inch.

“Bed,” Ky pronounced, in that voice he didn’t trust to anything longer. He watched as Sol stepped away; breathed out slowly and brushed off a sudden childish impulse to run a finger over his lips. Sol seated himself on the edge of the bed and twisted to lay back, all that infuriating skin spread out and waiting, and for that moment the sight of him was just about everything Ky knew.

He’d never been under any illusions about exactly what kind of encounter this was going to be. The worst of it was that Sol knew just as well as he did – had come here counting on it – and wasn’t dissuaded in the least; the lazy oaf probably revelled in engineering a scenario where Ky would be doing the bulk of the work, and just as surely knew how helpless Ky was himself to find any unmanufactured desire to turn him down. But he’d acted on presumption too fast – it _did_ make a difference that he’d agreed to this without a fight. There were _rules_ written into the core of his conscience about how something this intimate could and couldn’t proceed – or _should_ and _shouldn’t_ even if someone like Sol didn’t care – the kind they might have been excused for forgetting if this had all come tumbling out of the heat of the moment, but not so easily like this. Ky wanted to make Sol _feel_ everything he had been through today on his behalf, wanted to carve the blame into his flesh in a way he couldn’t forget; he wanted to climb into the bed, to let himself lose himself in the feel Sol’s skin against his until he forget everything else, everything he wanted or needed from this – everything he hated about it lay bent into such a tangled mass in his head that none of a dozen impulses gained the upper hand. His temper flared in fits and starts, but as long as he was rational enough to be thinking any of this there would be no escaping his share of the responsibility. Sooner or later he’d have to face the question of just how many lines he was prepared to let Sol goad him into crossing, let alone how many they’d crossed already, or whether there was any real will in him to care at all.

Really, he caught himself thinking in one of the distant corners of his mind, if he’d been this worried about sinking to Sol’s level, months ago would have been the right time to think of it.

He couldn’t spend the whole experience thinking about twenty five dead men, or even wallowing in anger over four. It was hard enough just to decide which of Sol’s innumerable faults he were most responsible for driving him into this rage. But he could spend it in anger at Sol and it would make no difference – he couldn’t hurt Sol, and certainly couldn’t lose the respect Sol had never had for him in the first place, and after that everything else quickly came down to technicality.

There were sparks flickering between Ky’s fingers as he clambered onto the bed to kneel over Sol on his hands and knees, but he was almost too distracted to notice – and when a couple leapt to Sol’s skin, making him flinch involuntarily, almost too angry to care. It was far less calculation than habit that guided him as he pressed his lips to the skin above Sol’s navel, caught it in his teeth and dragged up, slowly and deliberately, the taste of it warm and familiar against his tongue. There was the faintest hum of acknowledgement from Sol, but he stayed obediently still. When Sol was the one taking the lead – and that was more often than not – it was unheard for him to be anything like this patient. Even now, when he made the mistake of looking up long enough to catch Sol’s eyes the look in them promised that all it would take would be one word of permission and Sol could be the one that had him pressed down into the mattress, plundering his body and taking him hard and deep for as long as he could last. The thought was just tempting enough to push him that last inch of the way over the edge of something that must have been building inside him all day.

And perhaps it didn’t help to dig his nails into Sol’s arms, to write out his anger with his teeth against Sol’s chest and throat, because for every burst of rage Ky let loose on him there was the reminder than nothing he did to Sol – nothing he would ever be the least inclined to try even in his worst moods – would so much as leave a mark, and Sol would be quite content to lie back and enjoy this for as long as Ky wanted to take. But he could keep the pressure always that little bit short of what he knew Sol wanted; always apply himself just a little away from where it would be felt most keenly, and if Sol made so much as a whisper of protest Ky’s mouth could be gone completely until he’d remembered to behave, and that did mean something, in a way that not even every ounce of Sol’s determination that what they did together was ‘just sex’ could account for.

He knew this, had faced the enemy of Sol’s body enough times to know its weaknesses – better, he liked to think, than anyone else could ever have come close to knowing it. Places Sol had guided him to when this had still been new, things Ky had learned, pressed full length against him, back when half of his concentration had been lost keeping his hands from shaking; how to move his fingers, rhythms of breath and pressure, things that could be done to worry the skin right _there_ until it was impossibly sensitive; or things he’d discovered of his own initiative, that might never have quite returned the favour of how Sol could make him twist and moan so effortlessly – but sometimes, afterwards, might perhaps get him half a look that was just that little bit impressed, that stirred things in his chest in the last moment before sleep that would be lost with his dreams by morning. Things that had begun to come so naturally to him that it was an effort to remind himself to hold back, to focus on what he wanted first. But it was all worth it, just to be able to press his hands against Sol’s skin, humming with current, and still feel Sol twitch underneath him, happy to risk sparks to get Ky even a little closer to where he wanted him. Worth it, just to be able to show Sol just how far inside his defences he’d let Ky get; and it might not have been much in the way of revenge or even compensation, but it was still _something_ he had to hold over Sol that mattered, that drove them both so deep into this that it was only knowing he had control that let Ky draw it out for so long.

At times like this it was hard to remember anything between them that didn’t come down to a fight of one kind or another, somewhere at the bottom of it all.

Getting his shirt unbuckled and unzipped was easy. Getting out of his pants was less so, but achievable with a little agility without getting off the bed completely. He wouldn’t allow himself to care what Sol might think of the show, it would amount to much the same no matter how those items were divested (and really, what did it matter at this point if Sol could see he was just as desperate to be rid of them?). Crouched naked now over Sol’s legs, even the distance over his body looked almost too far to crawl, it was hard enough every inch of the way to resist the urge to just press down and rub himself against Sol in the simplest and most shameless of ways. No matter what his mood, he couldn’t resist dipping his head for one more kiss which Sol accepted gladly, sucking on his tongue in a meaningful way, until Ky pulled himself back again, shuffled that last, agonising, few feet further forward and finally could press himself into the waiting heat of Sol’s mouth, and oh god, that was almost too good – it felt as though he’d been waiting on edge for hours rather than what could hardly have been more than a matter of minutes since Sol had appeared in his room.

The angle for this was far from ideal, the way he was soon moving – rougher and faster than this act should usually have called for – something very little of his mind was in any state to care about, but Sol sucked him down like there was nothing he’d rather be doing. His hands settled on Ky’s hips to guide him – Ky far beyond any state to protest a break of the implicit movement ban now, biting his tongue against a noise that would probably have been heard rooms away if it had been allowed to escape. Even a few moments later, even that was more control than he could have had any hope of mustering. He came, hard and sudden, not the slightest concept of how long that had taken and no more inclined to care. Sol’s mouth released him rather more gently with one final flick of his tongue over newly-sensitised flesh, and Ky slumped down over his body, panting as though he might never get his breath back again. It was pleasing then, that the first thing he noticed – before he’d recovered enough for much coherent thought – was how he could feel Sol’s impatience thrumming through his skin, far more intense now that one of them had had release while the other remained completely untouched, Ky’s resting weight distributed in a manner that was nothing better than a tease. In any case he would have to wait until Ky was ready for a second round – and that wasn’t going to be _long_ in present company, but long enough. It would have been a waste not to let himself savour the moment.

His mind tickled with the odd feeling that a few minutes ago there’d been something about this that hadn’t seemed like a good idea, but it was quite impossible to imagine what it could have been.

For a while he rested there, head nestled in the pillow over Sol’s shoulder and breath tickling in his ear, rather longer than he really needed to get his breath back. Long enough to notice the faint weight of something that pressed lightly at the small of his back every time he breathed in – Sol’s hand, he realised, the possessive streak that was bound to return the moment Ky was too spent to protest. Time enough that when he moved to his hands and knees over Sol’s body again the intensity would be back in his own eyes – to let Sol see everything he was thinking. Let Sol watch him slide back down his body, inch by inch, until he could press his nose to nuzzle along the soft skin just inside Sol’s hip, so close to what Sol had to be almost ready to beg for. Lower still and he could set his teeth along the inside of Sol’s thigh, and with that Sol was far beyond any hope of suppressing the next twitch of his hips or the growl that escaped his lips.

Very slowly, Ky leaned and ran his tongue along Sol’s erection from root to tip. The growl this time was deeper, practically feral, and no matter that he’d come once already – how long had it been, five, ten minutes at most? – that was officially exactly long enough.

Little need for any kind of preparation with Sol, not even when Ky had had half the temper and twice the patience. There was nothing to be done but nudge Sol’s legs a little further apart and press himself inside all at once, the heat of Sol’s body familiar and different and somehow a dozen times as consuming as it had been before, Ky himself rubbed so raw of every pointless defence that even when he was sure he must have gasped aloud he neither heard nor remembered it. No more than a moment to adjust, and he was drawing himself back, terribly controlled, arms shaking under his own weight, and then he was thrusting raggedly back in, needing to get deeper inside. Sol didn’t need to do much to encourage him anymore, could have done more to move along with him or reached to wrap his hands around Ky’s forearms and pull him closer, but Ky certainly needed no reminder this was exactly how Sol liked it. Hard and furious, never able to spare a stray thought for whether he’d found anything like a consistent rhythm, spending every remaining ounce of the anger and frustration of the day in this and this alone.

It wasn’t by any means the first time they’d done this, that incident so long ago now he couldn’t even clearly remember whether it had surprised him that Sol would let him do something like this, let alone be the one to suggest it. It might have been more of a surprise that arguments between them could end any other than this way.

Really, with the welcoming tightness of Sol’s body around him like this was hardly the time for any kind of lasting thought, his mind lost to sheer sensation, climax building again already, leaving him unable to care about anything but pushing himself towards for all he was worth until well after the world had whited out around him, well past anything he might have had words to describe. He was softening inside Sol when he came back to himself, the first thing he noticed was that no matter his own state, Sol was still just as hard. He was just in time to wrap his own hand tightly around Sol’s cock before Sol reached it himself in frustration, their fingers tangling together on the first stroke in what could have been no more than an ungainly mess. But it worked, as Ky panted through what was not any kind of recovery so much as putting off collapse a little longer, barely had they figured out how to move like that together before Sol was coming too with one final moan of a growl, all over his own chest. Ky pulled out at last, barely wincing, and really did collapse, straight down and lucky not to land somewhere that would have been uncomfortable for both of them, utterly spent. Nothing mattered now, not the Order or any of whatever the myriad things that had had him storming in here angrily less than an hour before; nothing but the comfort of being able to rest by Sol’s side, blissfully blank, far from expecting to remember anything else between now and tomorrow morning.

It must have been something of a minor miracle that he was in any state to make sense of what Sol was on about when he muttered, “Four men?”

“You aren’t questioning our ability to count now?” Ky heard himself reply. The urge to roll over and fall fast asleep had run up against the niggling idea that if Sol wanted to talk – now – there was a reason.

“Search me,” said Sol, his voice rough even by its usual standards. “Four men, witnesses, the whole damn cavalry, I never even saw one of those poor bastards out there.” Ky thought he heard something else as well, muttered quieter, but he’d lost it again before he’d managed to parse any words from it.

Ky lifted his head, very slightly. He couldn’t see Sol’s face, and it was too much effort to move that far, Sol’s chest the nearest proxy. “You had no idea?”

“Wasn’t looking hard. A Gear that big jumps up in front of you, you shoot first, aim later.”

One of Ky’s hands had fallen to lie on Sol’s chest, and he splayed out his fingers a little, letting it drift further over his skin, curling himself a little closer to the side of a man with the power to incinerate four soldiers to ash in the time it took to cough, without even knowing it.

Out loud, he at least said the words that had been hanging over his conscience for hours. “If they were that close to a Megadeath Gear, they were dead already.”

There was a pause. Sol made no motion to move towards him, but neither did he move away.

“Poor fuckers wouldn’t even have known what hit them.”

“There… are worse ways to go.” Many of them under orders, suicide missions so bleak the officers didn’t even bother asking for volunteers anymore. Rumour had it the unlucky unit was drawn from a hat behind closed doors these days. Ky officially did not want to know; felt no authority to command his officers to find another way when even he was at a loss to tell them how. Neither of them wanted to talk about battles past; times when similar scenarios had played out with a different ending, when Sol had been their only weapon against the Megadeath Gears that wasn’t airship-mounted, when the order had had to be given whether their men could get clear in time or not. It was easier to think it was different when it was the higher command giving the order. Easier to believe the sacrifices were necessary – unavoidable.

He wondered for the first time whether Sol would be prone to playing the battle back behind his eyes, imagining curls in the flame to be burning bodies he should have seen, Gear-shrieks become human screams. He was less sure the answer would be ‘no’ than he’d would have been had the idea occurred to him earlier.

“The whole battle was a nightmare,” was what he said instead, aloud. “Nothing in Tactical’s reports from the last six months suggested we should have met a single Gear above Medium-Class. Something’s… gotten through the cracks.” It wasn’t an apology, not really, more something of an admission of just how much bigger than either of them this had become since they’d spoken last.

“Get some sleep,” Sol grumbled. “Whole objective was to stop you thinking about that crap.”

He’d said much the same at the start, of course, and it made enough sense even now that Ky found it easier than it might have been to forgive himself for not wondering how much of the truth it had been.

“You haven’t really been helping,” he complained, half-heartedly.

“…my bad.” Sol shifted slightly, reaching the end of his interest in putting off sleep for the night.

“It’s alright,” Ky whispered, feeling it must be the most inadequate sentiment he could possibly have offered, but he was far, far too tired for eloquence.

It would have to do. Sol would understand.


End file.
